Seclusion's Scarcity
by DownFallRecords
Summary: A foolish mistake sends A Rodian into hiding on Tatooine. This story takes place around TPM. Please R
1. Hasty Retreat

Author: DownfallRecords

Disclaimer: Star wars is owned by LUCASFILM, not me

Email: xj220c@hotmail.com  
  
This story takes place around the same time of the Phantom Menace  
  


Seclusion's Scarcity-Part 1  
  


With such a large number of species in the galaxy, there are quite a few that are considerably dangerous to cross. Whether it's avoiding a Wookie's anger, or fleeing from the wrath of a disgruntled Tusken Raider, it is wise to keep on the good sides of these beings. That is of course, if they even have one. But of all the sentient creatures that populate the stars, perhaps the Hutts are the most dangerous when double-crossed. The following is the tale of one such being's folly, and those affected by his journey.  
  
  
  


As it is with most shady dealings on Nar Shaddaa, this one took place in the dark. It was evening on the smuggler's moon and the streets and alleyways were lit only by flashing advertisements and the occasional passing of a skycar. A light drizzle drifted through the night, adding to the ever-present mugginess. The sound of various power generators and distant spacecraft permeated the air, occasionally interrupted by the scream of helpless streeters who found themselves on the wrong end of a confrontation. Jo De'te would be glad when he left his place.

The small Rodian glanced nervously about the dim-lit landing pad. The long green fingers of his right hand rested idly by his blaster hanging on his side. He hoped he wouldn't be forced to use it for quite honestly, he wasn't sure how.

He'd clothed himself in dark clothes, as someone who was trying to hide would. The pants and his vest were a bit too large, but it was the best he could do in a situation that found him with little time and even less credits.

A shining chronometer was attached to his bumpy, green, left wrist. Jo De'te watched anxiously as time crawled by.

_Three minutes_, he told himself._ Three minutes until my ship arrives. Three minutes until I'm free of Borda the Hutt's Grasp._

Jo stroked his long snout as he stared into the polluted sky. The lights of a freighter slowly descended down towards the landing pad where he awaited. The Rodian glanced at his chrono again. His shuttle was right on time.

With an overpowering roar of the vessel's engine, the medium sized, horseshoe shaped vessel sat down gently on the ferecrete landing pad. The Rodian watched in the shadows as it's engines slowly whined down to a dim hum. As the ramp on it's port side slowly started to descend Jo softly wrapped his hand around the blaster by his side. He didn't expect double cross, but over the last few days he'd learned anything could happen.

The ramp touched the pad and a lone figure walked down, wariness in his step. Jo slowly exited the shadows and raised a hand in the pilot's direction. He could now see his rescuer completely, a large Bothan, covered in dark red fur. 

"De'te?" Asked the newcomer, a sinister purr in his throat.

"Yes," said the fugitive with no more than a squeak. "Yes, I am he."

The Bothan nodded and turned to his ship, his dark blue cloak twirling. "We should be going, the longer we stay down here, the greater the chance Borda disposes of us." He flashed his teeth and smiled as his fur rippled lightly.

Jo, however, was not amused by the Bothan's joking. "I paid you specifically for protection from such events happening."

"Oh it won't, as long as we leave soon."

Jo pointed towards the Bothan's freighter, "Than let us leave now."  
  


Hendal Gorda sat silently in the cabin of his starship. His large, black eyes stared at the computer screen in front of him. A flashing light indicated the location of his bounty, provided by the tracking device he'd placed upon the Bothan, Ketch Farool's freighter. 

Hendal was a Rodian, as was his prey, Jo De'te. But that didn't matter to Hendal. Only credits mattered. Bordo the Hutt had released an open bounty on the poor Rodian's head. 50,000 credits to the first hunter to bring him in, dead or alive. Hendal enjoyed bounties that allowed him the discretion of killing. It made his job much easier. As did the device that was now following the fugitive out of Nar Shaddaa's atmosphere. All Hendal Gorda had to do was wait. And for 50,000 credits, Hendal was a very patient Rodian.

*****

"Blasted, filthy humans! Yelled Foontag as the three children raced from his cart, each carrying a handful of his precious Glimmer Fruit. Kendily Shipping Corporation charged him a small fortune to import loads of the tasty food to Tatooine. The street-children, however, knew his old Sullustan body was too slow and weak to capture them. And they were long gone before he could pull his stunner out of his disheveled robes. 

Muttering a string of curses in his native tongue, he began to count his losses. Fortunately the children didn't grab much of the small, oval-shaped fruit. Glimmer fruit came exclusively from the Kendily system, near the core worlds. Though expensive, Foontag Naboon was able to sell the fruit at an even higher price. Glimmer fruit was popular in various dishes used on the backwater planet's holidays. Foontag had ordered his last shipment just in time for the traditional Harvest Celebration. Though not celebrated by the poor, Mos-Eisley crowd, many of the wealthier moisture farmers would come in to town to purchase food for their meals. And for Glimmer Fruit, they'd stop by Foontag Naboon's cart. The only place on Tatooine to purchase the delicacy. 

Cursing the street-children again, Foontag rolled his cart down the dusty market street and towards his small flat. The peak of Tatooine's hot afternoon would soon come, and Naboon refused to stay out in the heat. Tatooine was the complete opposite of the cool underground caverns he enjoyed on his homeworld of Sullust. He could only stand so much of the scorching temperature before he was forced to go inside to his chilled quarters. 

A five minute stroll led him and his bounty of various foods to his front door. It was a shaded area, the sun was blocked out by the presence of a large hotel. His door was a rusty orange, featureless save for the keypad off to the side. The Sullustan punched in a code and with a confirmation beep his door slip open.

His dwelling was far from sparse, the sign of a successful businessman. It was dark, and most of all it was cool. The walls were as with everything in Mos Eisley, sand colored. He had various furnishings and plants throughout his living room. A fountain in the corner paid tribute to his homeworld and his family with a statue of one of his gods. It's water trickled silently and relaxed him. 

Foontag chittered in his language about the insuperiority of humans as he walked over to his holo-projecter to check for messages. He didn't expect any. Not many people had the need to contact him, save an occasional moisture farmer looking for a specialty, or a tax-collector looking to rob him. 

The projector however, surprised him. A flashing blue light indicated not just a message, but a message from far out of system. Nar Shadda in fact. Pouring himself a glass of water from a small cooler on the wall, Foontag sat down in his favorite chair, a small-bantha fur covered contraption, and hit the play button. A holographic image swirled out of the contraption with a small hum. Foontag watched as it formed into the image of a Rodian. 

"Foontag, my old friend. I am in need of much help," started the Image. The being seemed tense, nervous. "I've gotten myself in trouble with some of the locals. A powerful local to be precise. I'm leaving system and heading towards Tatooine. You are the only friend I have left, Foontag. I need your help. I would not ask if it wasn't of the highest importance." The Rodian looked around warily before he continued, as if to reassure himself he wasn't being watched. "I shall arrive in Mos Eisley two standard days after you receive this message. I will be aboard the vessel Shii'vik. Please my friend, meet me there and give me shelter until my danger passes. I'm sorry this is short, but I will explain my actions further in detail when I arrive." The Rodian rubbed his snout with his long fingers in nervous gesture and the image died.

All was quiet in Foontag's house as he gazed into the emptiness left by the ending of the message. His gray, stubby fingers picked at his brown robes and he let out the Sullustan equivalent of a sigh. His mind was made up though. He had lost a lot in his life on Tatooine, but he hadn't lost his loyalty. In two days he'd be at the spaceport.


	2. Arrival

Author: Downfall Records

Lucasfilm owns star wars

yadda yadda  
  


Seclusion's Scarcity, Part 2-Arrival  
  


In and out, day and night, Davil Benden watched the starships come and go. From Traffic Control, Station Two, of the Mos Eisley Spaceport he sat and peered at the travelers. With each new ship he set his eyes on, his desire to board one and explore what was beyond grew immensely. 

For three years he'd sat at his console, checking ship ID's and directing pilots where to land. It was not a glamorous career by any means, but it was more appealing then his brother's moisture farm their deceased father had left them. And to Davil, it seemed the closest he'd ever get to the life of a space traveler. 

Davil sat in his dark swivel-chair and watched the chrono on his screen. Three minutes until his shift was over, three minutes until he could leave the dark and crowded room and head over to the cantina. 

At nineteen, Davil's frame had filled out to that of a young, strong man. Atop his head lay a mass of auburn hair. It was kept short and simple. His face was accented with bold, blue eyes, and his cheeks and chin were covered in dark, day old stubble.

He was dressed in dark blue jumpsuit, standard issue for a city-funded job. Mos Eisley spaceport, though technically a government controlled station, was ran by civilians. In all reality there wasn't much of a government on Tatooine. Tatooine was not a member of the Republic. It had chosen to stay independent. The Hutts and various other crime lords were the ones in power. It didn't really concern Davil though, as long as his credit chips kept coming. 

As Davil stood to leave, his comlink abruptly fired up. 

"This is Station Three here." Came the voice of one of Davin's coworkers, Ben Otoley, another human. 

Davil sighed, knowing he'd have to stay longer now. "Yeah Three, this is Two here. What's going on?"

"We were tracking a freighter experiencing engine trouble. It went off our screens about two klicks south of town."

"So he's probably crashed into the sand and is burning. What does this have to do with me?" Davil asked impatiently. He could feel his hours at the bar quickly slipping away.

"Command wants you and me to go check it out. Look for survivors, the usual." Came Ben's voice. It too held disappointment, but the older man seemed to be able to hide it more.

Davil cursed under his breath and shook his head. _So much for enjoying my off-time_. "Roger that, Three," he said. "I'll meet you at the speeder."  
  


As the suns set slowly into the blazing orange sky, a lone speeder sped out of town and into the surrounding harshness. Davil Benden sat quietly in the passenger's seat, contemplating what lay ahead. In his span at the spaceport, he'd seen plenty of crashes. Not many held survivors. The Tatooine desert was infamous in its ability to kill pilots. 

As the time passed it found the speeder parked on the ridge of a scorched valley. Below it lay the wreckage of what Davil guessed to be a Sorosuub T-5 Light Freighter. Its short, wedged shape broken in half. Flames danced over the hull, consuming the remaining antennas and sensors.

Ben let out a soft whistle at the sight. His rough hands came up to scratch his tan beard as the cool breeze played with his long hair.

Davil turned from his companion and brought his binocs to his eyes. On the screen, he was surprised to find a long figure moving in front of the wreckage. Using the zoom feature, he made it out to be a human. The man was dressed in a torn, orange flight suit. His face was covered in black soot, and his large arms carried pieces of equipment that he must have judged salvageable. 

"We have a survivor," announced Davil, handing the binocs to Otoley.

Ben nodded at the younger man, "Let's go say hello."  
  


Lesk Dafoon glanced at the two figures atop the ridge. Their silhouettes glowing in the setting suns. Instinctively his hand went to his holster. He'd heard stories of the Sand People and other vicious scavengers that roamed the Tatooine desert. His hand, however, was met with disappointment at the emptiness of his holster. _Blasted thing must have fallen out in the ship._

He patted his torn up suit for anything hard or pointy. Finding nothing but a comlink, he began to walk towards the approaching duo. He chuckled to himself,_ maybe I can throw the comlink at them before they raise their guns_.

As he walked towards the strangers, he squinted his dark green eyes. They both appeared human, and neither seemed to be carrying a weapon. The long haired man even raised his hand in greeting. With a decreasing sense of wariness he decided that his life was safer with these two then without.

As the neared each other, long hair spoke, "We watched you go down on our screens at the spaceport, are you all right?"

Lesk nodded grimly, but pointed to his ship. "But I'm afraid she's not." 

"What happened?" Asked the younger man, to the long-haired one's right.

"I'm not quite sure," Lesk admitted, not tearing his gaze from his ship. "When I began my descent something just went wrong. Broken sensor, damaged stabilizer, I don't know. Maybe it was just fate, but either way..." Lesk paused, as if he had suddenly realized the enormity of what he'd lost. "Either way she'll never fly again."

As if to change the subject, the younger man spoke up. "My name is Davil Benden, this is my coworker, Ben Otoley." Both men nodded to each other, a symbol of mutual respect.

"We're here to pick you up, help you out with anything we can," added Ben.

Lesk turned back to his ship, as if taking one last look at a dying friend. He knew it was over now. His career, his income, his dreams. All of them were burning with his ship. Turning back to the newcomers he said, "I've gotten everything out of there I can use, let's get out of here before it turns itself into a ball of exploding gas."

The two men nodded again, silently agreeing. And with that they began to walk back to the speeder. 

****

High above the moon of Nar Shadda, _Hendal's Revenge_ floated peacefully, far away from the lanes of interstellar traffic. The swarms of ships entered and exited the atmosphere. Each immersed in its own business, legal or otherwise.

The ship was oval shaped, save for two large laser batteries jutting from its port and stern. _Hendal's Revenge_ sat quietly, illuminated only by the gentle lights coming from its aft ports.

For two days it had sat, waiting for a signal. A signal that would lead its pilot to his quarry. A signal that had finally come.

A beeping from the cockpit awoke Hendal Gordo. He opened his large, bulbous eyes and sat up in his bed. With a touch of excitement in his step, he walked past the orange bulkheads and towards the cockpit. He reached his destination and the door to the controls slip open.

The cockpit was small, a lone seat was centered in front of the port. To its left and right sat various screens that monitored the_ Revenge's_ functions and its onboard prisoner cells.

The bounty hunter sat in the green seat. With a deadly sense of calm he tapped the flashing light on his display. The beeping stopped and a holographic image appeared in front of him. It soon formed into a planet. It's spherical mass was tan, speckled with browns and reds. Two suns glowed in the distance.

_ So my friend, thought Hendal with a smile. You have fled to Tatooine_. The Rodian rubbed his long green fingers together as he enjoyed his good fortune. He was born a hunter. Raised a hunter. And now, he would hunt again.

*****

Foontag Naboon walked quietly through the crowded Mos Eisley spaceport. His senses were alert as he scanned the area for potential danger. His right arm was hidden inside his red cloak, resting on his stunner. Sullustan's were small, and genuinely thought of as weak creatures. Easy picking for those seeking easy money.

Foontag's large ears picked up a plethora of sounds. Sullustan's were known to have some of the best hearing of the galaxy's sentient species, and Foontag had grown used to using his as an early warning system.

The cautious figure looked at the chronometer on a flashing display above him. The ship Jo De'te had sought passage with, Shii'vik, had arrived minutes ago. What docking bay, however, Foontag had yet to discover.

His eyes focused on his surroundings and he heard a door to his right slide open. Above the gray door the words "Traffic Control. No Admittance" appeared in several languages. A younger man in a blue jumpsuit strolled out and squinted his eyes at the change of light.

"Excuse me, my friend," started Foontag as he approached the young man.

The man looked down at the Sullustan with a hint of annoyance on his face. "Yes, what is it?"

"My friend has just landed aboard the _Shii'vik. _I am supposed to greet him, but I don't know at which docking bay he sits."

The blue-clad man looked to the ceiling, running ships names through his memory. "The_ Shii'vik_, you'll find it at bay thirty-three." With that he walked off quickly towards an exit.

"Thank you!" Called Foontag as the young man walked away. With that he headed towards bay thirty-three.  
  


Jo De'te stood nervously in the middle of docking bay 33, waiting for his friend's arrival. If he even shows up at all, he told himself, unsure. Jo had known Foontag for twenty years, they had even been former business partners while living on Coruscant, but there had been a falling out, and they'd not talked for several years. But he is my last hope. 

Jo glanced back to his Bothan pilot who was seeing to his ship being fueled. He'd already payed Ketch Farool his 10,000 credits for flying him to Tatooine. It was an profane amount, but Jo had not had time to argue while on Nar Shaddaa. He'd barely escaped with his life, losing credits didn't seem to bother him anymore.

"Hello, De'te," came a voice from behind Jo.

The Rodian twirled around, surprised at the voice behind him. Before him stood a Sullustan. He was around 1.5 meters tall, and dressed in red robes. His eyes were large, green things that held a look of relief and anxiousness at the same time. His face jowls hung softly, adding dimension to his gray and tan skin.

"Hello, Foontag Naboon. It has been a long time since last we met," he said calmly.

"Yes, yes it has," The Sullustan nodded. "I trust your journey was safe?"

"Indeed. My pilot was a bit intense," he said, pointing towards the Bothan watching the meeting in the shadows of _Shii'vik's_ underbelly. "But he got me here safely."

"And you've payed him?" 

Jo ignored his battered pride at the words from his companion's mouth. "Yes, I may be in a dire situation, but I am still honorable enough to pay for my services."

"Then we should be going," said Foontag.

Jo turned to Ketch and said, "I thank you again for your help." He then reeled and walked towards Foontag, and out of docking bay 33.

  
  



	3. 

Author: DownfallRecords

Starwars is owned by LUCASFILM

  
  


Seclusion's Scarcity, Part 3-Boring Days and Bad Nights

  
  


Davil treaded a steady pace down the spaceport corridors and out to the sun-scorched street. It was midday and Davil was in search of a lunch. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he walked towards a crop of vendors. 

Mos Eisley's streets held many areas that sprawled with peddling carts. Each offering a variety of cheap products ranging from greasy foods to hobbled together pieces of scrap advertised as souvenirs.

Handing several credit chips to a badly scarred Klatooinian behind a cart, Davil walked away carrying a bantha-steak sandwich. Finding an empty seat propped against the wall of a residence, he sat down and began to eat.

Davil watched the crowd before him. The sights, sounds, and smells of a dozen different species floated through the air as they bartered and argued amongst themselves. It was scenes like these that captured his imagination. He wanted off his world. _It's not enough to see these people here, I want to see where they came from._

Davil knew what it took to get off-planet; a ship or a pilot with a ship. Unfortunately both those things required what did not come easily on Tatooine; credits.

His job provided enough to get by. He rented a small flat on the outskirts of town. The rest of his credits were spent on food, and of course the cantina. He enjoyed sitting in a dark booth and listening to the pilots share their exaggerated plights with each other.

As he continued his lunch, Davil's attention was drawn to two new figures that walked quickly through the marketplace. He recognized the Sullustan in red immediately. _That's the one that asked me about the Shi'viik._ Davil's attention, however, was drawn to the Rodian by the Sullustan's side.

For some reason he looked familiar. Davil shook his head, _I don't even know any Rodians._ But he couldn't shake the feeling of recognition. He watched the two aliens as they passed through the market and eventually disappeared into the crowd. 

Looking at his chronometer he quickly finished his greasy meal. Picturing the Rodian again he let out a chuckle. _Perhaps the sun has finally gotten to my head._ Davil stood and stretched. With five more hours of work left, he had more important things to do than worry about complete strangers.  
  
*****

Lesk Dafoon swirled his drink about his glass, entranced by the colors. With a heavy sigh he downed the last of the powerful alcohol, savoring the burning in his throat.

He looked around the dim-lit cantina, it's large, day-time crowed noisily conversed with each other. Some crowded the circular counter demanding drinks. Others hid in booths and talked quietly.

Lesk, however, preferred to be alone. He sat slumped in his seat with a grizzled look on his face. It was covered in a dirty stubble from his recent disregard of hygiene.

It had been two days since he'd left his ship, the _Aphex_, to burn in the desert. Two of the worst days of his life. When the two men who picked him up from the wreck dropped him midtown, he'd not known what to do. He'd bought a change of clothes with the credit's he'd salvaged and then headed towards the nearest refuge. It just happened to end up being the cantina.

For the last fifteen years of his life, Lesk had been a pilot. A good pilot at that. He'd grown up on a floating colony high above the planet of Antar 4. The planet was homeworld to the Gotals, but many other species had come to work on the mineral mines that were spread throughout the system, prospering off the rich minerals on the planet. At the age of 25 he became employed as a pilot for Prindaar Shipping company, running loads of minerals to various worlds. Five years later he bought his own ship, and went independent. Though the money was not always as frequent, it was often better. Lesk loved the sense of independence his ship gave him. But now that was gone, and with it, so was his life.

As he finished his drink, he rubbed his eyes and let out a yawn. He couldn't sleep in the cantina, he'd tried the night before, only to find himself on the streets at the hands of an angry bartender.

Slowly, woozily, Lesk stood up. The room spun a bit, but not enough to keep him from walking. He carefully tread across the bar, avoiding the gazes of the others gathered there. Lesk accidently swayed into a pair of blue-skinned Duros' and was rewarded with curse and a push. Focusing his attention on the door he walked up a pair of battered steps and stumbled out into the night.

_ It's night?_ Lesk asked himself, confused._ It can't be, I've only been in the bar for_..., Lesk glanced at his chronometer and felt himself blush. _Seven hours. _

Shaking his head, his began to look for a place to sleep. He had enough money to a rent a room for the night, but he didn't want to spend that money if he didn't have to. If only I can find a blanket, or a...

"You look a little lost," came a savage voice from behind Lesk.

He turned around to be greeted with a vision that was somewhat less-than appealing. The man before him was dressed in multi-colored rags, each covered with symbols, as if part of a gang. He was short, but stocky, and muscles could be seem rippling under his apparel. On his face he wore a feral green. It reveled missing teeth and quite ill intentions.

"No," answered Lesk carefully, "I know where I'm going." He then quickly turned and started to walk off. After a few seconds of silence he'd thought he'd gotten away with it. He was wrong.

The kick to the back sent him sprawling to the dirt. With a thud his head hit the hard ground, blanking his vision for short span. As the world became clear again, he slowly got to his feet and turned around. "Look, I don't have any money, you're wasting your..."

His attacker's first interrupted his attempted bargain as it smashed into his mouth. The world around Lesk spun around and he found himself laying on the ground, staring at the blurry night-sky. He felt something odd in his mouth and in disgust, spit out two teeth. 

As his head cleared again, he watched the stars above him. It was almost peaceful until a kick by his mugger landed on his sternum. The air was whisked from Lesk's body, repeatedly and forcefully. He brought his hands over his head, a meek protection. The kicks became more frequent, and Lesk could feel things start to move in his body. Things that shouldn't have moved. He just lay there helpless. Soon it would be over, and to be honest, he wasn't that regretful about it.

It took Lesk a few seconds to realize, but the kicking had stopped. He heard a thump on the ground to his right, but couldn't turn himself to see who or what had fallen. Startling him, a familiar face appeared over his. It one of the men that had found him at the crash site. _What was his name, Davis, Davele?_

"Are you alright?" Asked the newcomer, clearly concerned.

Lesk attempted to talk, but what came out was nothing more than a barely audible moan.

"I'm Davil Beven. I don't know if you remember me," he started, wiping spots of blood off Lesk's head with a cloth. "I don't think I should move you, I'll call someone who can help. He used to be a doctor."

Lesk attempted to nod, but the pain that lanced through his neck persuaded him to stop. He watched Davil slowly fade as he talked into his comlink. Within a few seconds, the rest of the world faded away too.

*****

Foontag Naboon fussed with two small cups of tea in his kitchen unit. The tea was expensive, but he wasn't about to be called a bad host. _The question is, how long will I be a host? _

Foontag walked from the compact kitchen, and into his main room. In a small chair sat his Rodian friend who stared into the flowing fountain. He raised his head as Foontag entered, and thanked him for the tea. 

"So tell me," started Foontag. "What has brought you to this state of hiding?"

Jo De'te was silent for a long time, as if summing up his entire situation. He turned his eyes to look at his friend. "I...I had been working for Borda the Hutt," he stopped at he saw the disapproving look on Foontag's face. "Times were not prosperous, and the job payed well," he explained. "Within time Borda had grown to trust me. I was put in charge of managing his finances. I monitored his accounts and gave him advice on expenses.

Foontag nodded, understanding the various procedures used in business. Years ago Foontag and Jo had worked together in a similar position with a contracting company on Coruscant. They had risen to the top quickly, eventually becoming the co-heads of the financial board. They had been successful and prosperous and had the ear of the company's owner. That benefit, however, had been their downfall.

Both Naboon and De'te had urged the president to invest in durascien, an ore that had been discovered in the asteroid belts of Hoth. It was thought to be higher quality than duracrete or plasteel, but it had turned out to of no more value than spacedust.

Losing over a quarter of their company's profits, both Foontag and Jo had been fired. They were marked as fools and made the laughing stock of the Coruscant financial community. Both of the beings had left their homes in shame. Each attempting to begin a new life

"Borda was never attentive to his funds. I thought it would be safe to drain a small portion of his commerce to booster my personal accounts. I was wrong. One of Borda's people, a man who was jealous of my position, caught me. One day I was enjoying a comfortable life in luxury, the next I was fleeing in the alleys of Nar Shaddaa, avoiding bounty hunters."

Foontag let out a sigh and examined his fingers. "Why, Jo, did you come to me?"

"You were the only one I could trust. Most of my other associates would be willing to sell me out for the 50,000 credits Borda has on my head."

The Sullustan's eyes widened, "Fifty thousand?"

Jo gave the Rodian equivalent of a smile. "Borda is quite a bit put off by my actions."

"I'll say," said Foontag. "I understand why you've fled to this world. But with a price that large, I'm not sure even Tatooine will be able to hide you forever."


End file.
